Toffee
by Remus-Chocolade
Summary: Experimenting with new products through war and all, the Weasley twins discover a surprising effect one of their inventions have.


**Disclaimer: Of course I own nada of characters and stuff, this is _fan_fiction , after all.  
**

**AN: This suddenly jumped out in the middle of the night long after I should have gone to bed and I haven't even read it over to check for typos. However, I like the idea and for the moment it's just gonna stay like it is.  
**

Rubbing his temples quickly, Fred looked down at the small toffee that was the result of the last weeks labour. All that was left was to try it out and see how much they had gone wrong and what side-effects they would have to fix.

"It's not gonna jump into your mouth by itself," George informed him dryly from behind him. "If you'd wanted that you could've told me earlier."

"You should shut your trap and stop coming up with things we don't have time to invent," Fred answered, rather fancying the idea of jumping sweets. With a sigh he pinched the toffee between his thumb and index finger and flickered it into his mouth with a grin. It was tough enough and nearly glued his teeth together, but he kept chewing, prodding his tongue to where it stuck.

"At least you look alert enough," George muttered, coming to stand in front of his twin, his brows drawn slightly together. The effect they hoped to produce was sleep while still seeming alert enough to the casual observer like a professor. "Feel anything?"

"No," Fred answered, still chewing and swallowing at intervals. "Tastes like rubber bands, though. I haven't turned green or anything?"

"Not yet," George answered with a faint smile as he leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. The weather outside was putting on a meek show of grey drizzle and he pointed his wand sharply at the window to close the curtains. He was well aware of how the ongoing war affected their lives, not just putting them and their family in harm's way, but simply ruining the chances of business running smoothly. Still, they kept experimenting, if nothing else so for their own amusement and the jesting hope that it would be of use for someone in greater trouble.

"Hey, holesome," Fred said, yanking George out of his thoughts. "Stop being so Bill-ish." A sticky tongue produced to lick away spittle from Fred's lips and George snorted. "You had just that look on you, the one Bill uses when he's fretting."

"I'm not fretting," George said and pushed away from the table.

"You should be, this isn't working," Fred retorted, using his tongue to find any remains of the toffee among his teeth.

"Told you pine sap was a poor replacement," George muttered as he pushed the door of their work room open.

"Hey, unless you're getting booze, get that fine arse of yours back here!" Fred bellowed, then cleared his throat and coughed, pine sap had been a very poor replacement. Following his twin out in the small living room of their flat, he saw the two glasses and the bottle of whisky, and sighed with relief as he sunk down on the couch beside George.

"I have a fine arse, now, do I?" the latter muttered and took a healthy swallow from his glass.

"Unlike your temper," Fred answered with a cocked brow.

"I'm just tired," George answered with a one-sided shrug and reached up to touch the hole in the side of his head.

"I eat the sleeping toffee from hell and you get tired," Fred muttered with a head-shake. "Fine, we'll call it a day. Merlin knows I need to brush my teeth now, anyway." Still they sat for some minutes, sipping in silence.

–

They hadn't expected this, running for their lives and shooting spells at people they presumed were against them. There was no time to stop and ask and Fred felt a beginning headache snake its fingers around his skull as he ran hell-bent after his twin down a stone corridor. Chances were they had fled down the same corridor years before, back then the only fear would be a detention or three.

A stray spell skimmed the arm of Fred's shirt, he felt the heat of it and the pulsing blood down his chilled skin. The chill had not so much to do with the temperature of the air as the spurs of adrenaline pumping through his veins at random intervals. The time between them, whether it was a second or an hour, left him shaking and cold-sweating.

Crunching behind a fallen stone wall with his twin, Fred realised he wouldn't be the least surprised if he found his underwear soiled one way or another when this was over; his buttocks were clenched tight with fear in an attempt to tuck the tail he had never had safely between his legs, and the debris and dust floated freely in the air, clinging to their skin, hair and clothes. The top of George's head had lost the tell-tale red of their ancestry and now resembled more an iron kettle left in a swamp for too long. Fred could envision it all to clearly, once the cooking equipment of a skillful witch, the kettle now had no other friends than a few frogs and a crow where it laid halfway down in the muddy swamp-water, rusting away.

A small giggle might have escaped him, he wasn't sure, as the kettle in the swamp and its small friends occupied a greater deal of his mind than what should be allowed in the middle of a battle. He wasn't too concerned, though, George was somewhere out there, he would take care of whatever it was. It didn't matter, nothing did, as his body slowly slid into auto-pilot.

–

The next thing Fred thought he was aware of was that blasted headache again. Luckily it didn't throb, it just was there like a looming cloud, maybe inclined to release some rain and thunder. The next he realised, though vaguely, was that a great deal of time had passed. Maybe not great by minutes and hours, but great in what had happened.

Someone was sobbing, exactly the direction he wasn't sure of, but to open his eyes seemed a bit much of an effort. Actually there were several kind of sobs, some soft, others rough and punctuated by the blowing of noses.

Voices. He could barely pick them up, but strained his ears for them. They were familiar, even if he was too dazed to put names or faces to them, much less distinguish the words. They were slow and comforting, that he could pick out.

Charlie, that was one of the names to the voices, rough and deep with emotion. A moment later he was supplied with the image of a broad weather-toughed face, laughing with true mirth and the same red hair as Fred had himself, although cropped short. His brother; the piece had found its place in the puzzle.

But why would his brother be crying? Charlie wasn't the one to sob his heart out, and whatever for? That was a piece Fred couldn't fit into the puzzle, to join the picture of laughter and the sound that grew steady stronger in his ears. It wasn't right, Charlie couldn't be crying!

His brows twitched slightly as he out of habit tried to knit them firmly, to force an explanation through. He could now pick out distinct sobs and place names to them. A soft sniffing a distance away was maybe Fleur, no sound of Bill. Of course not, the older would cry silently and not make a sound in fear of betraying his weakness. A wretched bawling was much closer to him and he found it a wonder he had heard anything through it at all. His mother, no doubt, with quiet murmuring and hushing from his father.

Fred jumped within his skin, still not able to move as much as a muscle, as a cold drop hit him unexpectedly between the eyes. Another followed, landing above his right brow. The kept coming, a soft pitter-patter against his skin. That's when he made the decision, the madness must end! He could deal with his and George's kind of madness, that he had control over, this was just plain ridiculous!

Slowly and painfully he forced his eyelids open, and using a few seconds to let his eyes adjust, he found himself staring into the pale upside-down face of his twin.

"George?" It was barely more than a croak, but at least he had found his voice. George's tear-wet eyes sprang open, wide as saucers as he stared back into Fred's eyes.

"Hi," George said dumbly, his face gone blank and the colour slowly seeping up behind his freckles.

"Fancy seeing you here," Fred shot back, even if he had no idea of where they were or what the hell was going on. At least he seemed to find all his limbs still attached and some strength to use them. Slowly he reached up with a shaking hand to wipe the tears away from George's blushing cheeks.

Fred was well aware of the presence of the rest of their family, could feel their stares of utter bewilderment on his body, stretched out on the stone with his head in George's lap, but he was content to wait for a cure to his own bewilderment. George cleared his throat, the colour fading from his face, but leaving his cheekbones glowing in the dim light.

"That toffee finally kicked in?" he whispered, trying to smile, but his facial muscles seemed to be made of water, it turned into nothing more than a quiver at the corner of his mouth.

"Looks like it," Fred answered, giving a shaky grin in return.

**AN: Molly's reaction would be fun to write, but I just can't be buggered to do it right now, and not to ruin the twins' happiness either. Some feedback is always appreciated (hint, hint!).**


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